


Badger, Sett & Match

by Shrewreadings



Series: Badger-Verse [3]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Badgers, Fluff, M/M, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shrewreadings/pseuds/Shrewreadings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for SciFiGrl47, who had the crud in October.</p><p>Remember those badgers in part 1? Think they're happy about their relocation plan?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Badger, Sett & Match

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scifigrl47](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigrl47/gifts).



> Chronology note: "Socially Responsible Graffiti" is set in October; this happens in November some time.

Badger, Sett & Match

"These creatures seem quite unhappy." Thor said, looking at the badger enclosure. One of the females paced back and forth along the acrylic wall, glaring at the humans on the other side.

"They've been here a while," Bruce said, looking at the feeding data. "We had them in their own individual enclosures, but they started scrabbling at the walls like Tony being driven by the Aston Martin dealership and not stopping. So we let them start socializing, and now they're living in these… Cetes."

"A seed for what, Dr. Banner?"

"Cetes of badgers. A group of badgers is a cete, or a colony." Bruce explained, opening a six pound package of hamburger and breaking it into half-kilogram portions before putting them on to the feeding pans, adding a mix of fruit and vegetables to the pan and sliding them into the enclosures through the hatch. "We can't let them just carry on in Nebraska without being sure they're not going to destroy the ecosystem – it'd be like frogs in Australia all over again."

"You know that they are self aware?" Thor asked, watching the badgers form orderly cetes around the pans, traffic being directed by a large female with black ovals on her face. 

"And problem-solving," Bruce said. " _And_ they're capable of planning, designing and _adapting their designs during execution._ Steve told you about what happened with their tunnels in Nebraska?"

Thor nodded. "Their tunnels were too close to one another, and the den walls not thick enough, he said?"

"Yeah, collapsed right under the quinjet." Bruce answered. "They started building a new sett – what we call a badger den – as soon as we put the dirt in for them. They divided the space into quadrants and dug a small test sett big enough for one of the juveniles. Little female went in, burrowed around, and then – we think – jumped up and down for ten minutes straight. Then she came out, and they started in on a sett big enough for the cete."

"Is this not usual?" 

"Not for North American badgers, no."

"It is quite normal for their Asgardian cousins. Of course, their claws change colors."

"Really? How?"

"I do not know. I could ask Oskar Viglundssonson the next time I see him, if you like: he studies them." Thor sat down in front of the window where a badger who had finished eating came over, sat on its hindquarters and stared at the Asgaridan. 

The badger reached out and tapped on the window.

Thor regarded the badger. "Dr. Banner," he asked, "would it be permissible for me to enter their enclosure?"

"They're not very friendly," Bruce said. "And those claws are really, _really_ sharp."

"There is something familiar about these creatures. I cannot put my finger on it, yet."

"I think it might be a good idea to not go in with a group," Bruce answered. "Why don't we try a single contact first? I know they can't get through your armor, and your skin is about as tough as the Other Guy's – but I'd really hate to be the one to have to explain to your father why his heir is missing an ear and three fingers."

Thor laughed. "Well enough. Let us make arrangements."

*~*~*

Nick Fury leaned forward, banged his head into his desk and repeated.

"They're _sentient?_ "

Coulson shrugged. "To be honest, sir, it shouldn't be that much of a stretch. The interconnected wheel, spoke, trunk and exchange system in Dennison was poorly constructed, but the design was quite well thought-out. Miami is considering adapting it for their use."

"I am thrilled that the greater Miami-Dade metropolitan region has found a way of resolving its rapid transit issues, but I am still boggling at it having been designed by _sentient badgers from Nebraska."_

"Mutant sentient badgers from Nebraska living in Manhattan," Bruce said helpfully, from the other guest chair in Fury's office. "Two dozen of them. With more arriving on transports on a weekly basis."

"And how are we managing to trap our… guests?" Fury asked.

"Apparently, they can't resist black-eyed peas." Bruce said. 

"Carol Gambrel, the graduate student who's doing the trapping and GPS tracking chip testing for us says it's like it's badger meth." Coulson explained. "Open can, empty into trap, wait 24 hours, sedate, check variety, and either chip and release or ship back to us. She's overjoyed."

"I'm thrilled." Fury said. "And the badgers are griping about the food and the accommodations."

"Yes." Coulson said.

"Am I going to have UN Sentient Organisms' Rights inspectors trooping through my highly secure base, loaded as it is with classified documents and staffed by employees whose numbers include illegal aliens from other planets and alternate universes? Individuals, in other words, who would really rather _not_ be subjected to the scrutiny of the blue helmet people?"

"Not if we make some changes to their food and accommodations." Coulson answered.

Fury fixed his eye on his lieutenant. "I'm not going to like this, am I."

"Probably not, sir."

*~*~*

"You've moved _what_ into my house?"

"Be fair, Tony." Steve said, "it's not so much a house as it is a peninsular compound."

"I would actually call it an estate, myself," Clint said.

"Palace, even." Natasha murmured.

"How about the house that my great-grandfather built and that I grew up in?" Tony looked at his watch. 11.30 AM on a Saturday was probably a bit early for a drink for the Eastern time zone. On the other hand, it was well into happy hour in Eastern Greenland. He got up and went to the bar. 

"Now that's just ridiculous, Tony." Steve said. "I distinctly recall reading that that particular house got taken out by the Long Island Express in 1938."

"Still grew up in a house now infested by _badgers."_ He poured a half-shot of whiskey, tossed it back, poured a double shot into the glass and stalked back towards the couch, daring Steve to say anything.

"Infested implies vermin and pestilence." Coulson said. "That's somewhat hurtful. This is a group of 24 well organized _Taxidea taxus denisonni_ with social hierarchy that made continued confinement in an urban environment untenable, not a colony of Norwegian wharf rats. Besides, you haven't been out at the Long Island… residence… in more than 20 years."

"That doesn't mean I'm thrilled to have weasels for houseguests. If I wanted weasels for houseguests, I'd send an invite over to Wolverine." Tony muttered.

"Why don't you look on it as an opportunity to make first contact with a new species?" Clint suggested. "They've got to be friendlier than Loki was."

"Clint, you and I, personally, have met tiger and bull sharks that are friendlier Loki was." Natasha countered.

"And given that you were both somewhat blood-drenched at the time, that's really saying something." Steve added. "You said they were getting along fine with Thor, Bruce?"

Bruce nodded. "Apparently you just sit down in their enclosure, ignore them and two seconds later you've got a juvenile male badger in your lap." He pulled his shirt cuff down a little, then added, "Look, they're there now, and nicely settled into the foaling barn and since your grandfather rebuilt with a drawbridge to allow his boats in and out of the sound, it's functionally an island, which is really ideal until we can sort out what to do about them. Or for them. And it looks like we're going to need to find space for at least two dozen more in the next six weeks."

"Okay, I know that Nebraska is known for producing critters that can cover ground - those Cornhuskers keep picking up more yardage than they should have - but how far have these things gotten from Dennison?" Clint asked.

"It's not that. Well, it is partially that." Bruce said. "But mainly, it's that nine of the females are pregnant."

Tony hoisted his glass. " _Mazel Tov,_ my badger friends." 

Even Steve didn't have the heart to look sternly at him as Tony drained the drink in one go.

*~*~*

Sunday dawned as one of those fall days you only seem to get in New York in the fall: azure skies, fluffy white clouds, not too cool or too hot, sunbeams hitting and warming spots just when you needed them. A murmur from Steve and Jarvis untinted the windows, letting the sun stream on to Tony where he still slept, one arm flung over his head, boneless and sprawled out. The yellow hues of the sun were much warmer than the blue-white light given off by the arc reactor: the beams enticed touch, where the arc reactor rebuffed.

Steve had spent hours watching Tony sleep like this, committing the images to memory, drawing them whenever the mood took him. He'd taken care to never tell Tony about the habit. At best, Tony would make a joke of it: Steve expected Sleeping Beauty would be referenced. 

At worst, Steve feared Tony would stop allowing himself to sleep with Steve. 

That idea bothered Steve on a number of levels. He knew that Tony slept more when Steve was home. Whenever Steve had to be away, even for a day, the quantity of designs, fabrications and innovations that came out of Tony's workshop skyrocketed. So did the size of the dark circles under the engineer's eyes, the quantity half-filled coffee mugs and smoothie-encrusted glasses littering the workshops and labs. 

What Steve hadn't figured out until they had been together for about a month was that Tony slept _better_ when Steve was there, too. Early on, Steve slept on the side of the bed by the window. Nightmares would wake Tony (and Steve), and unwilling to return to sleep, Tony would flee their bed for the workshop. By sheer chance, one night Steve and Tony changed places, and with Steve between Tony and the door, Tony slept like the dead.

Steve suspected that fucking Tony through the mattress had helped some with that happy outcome, as well. That was something Steve _really_ didn't want to lose.

So this Sunday, Steve indulged himself, watching Tony sleep in the early morning sun, almost missing that Tony's breaths were becoming a little shallower. Steve barely had time to shift his attention to the book he had been 'reading' while Tony slept.

Tony stretched slowly and at length before his eyes opened. He smiled as he saw Steve next to him, and asked, "good book?"

"Mmmm." Steve answered, making it sound like he was engrossed.

Tony stretched again, his back popping. "Might be even better if it were right-side up."

Steve actually _looked_ at the book, saw that Tony was right, and blushed furiously. Tony took pity on him, reached over and pulled him down for a kiss. "Morning."

"Morning." Steve answered. "Sleep well?"

"Very."

"Good." Steve smiled. "I'd hate for you to be unrested for this morning's activities."

"Oh?" Tony asked. "What did you have in mind?"

*~*~*

"This," Clint said as a Chevrolet attempted cut them off on the Northern State Parkway, "is why I said we should take the quinjet."

"I tried," Steve said, "Honda! Honda!" an Accord pulled right in front of them without using its turn signal.

"I've got it," Clint said, putting his foot down and passing the offending Accord right back ( _using_ his turn signals: buzzing another driver was much more satisfactory when doing it legally). "You tried?"

"Well, with five of us going, there wouldn't have been any point in _not_ taking the jet: fuel economy on it's the same as two cars. But Tony got really closed off and said that there were projects in his workshop that needed him." Steve answered. "So here we are."

Thor said slowly, "that does sound somewhat… ominous."

"Good word." Bruce said, sipping his tea. "He didn't have anything urgent that I saw going yesterday. Doodling on some new refinements for Butterfingers and You, but that's it." 

Steve's jaw clenched then relaxed. He stared hard out the window at Long Island passing by.

"Perhaps he is more upset by the placing of the badgers in his ancestral home than he had let us know?" Thor asked.

Clint said. "If it were someplace he spent a lot of time in, I could see it. But one of the office pools with the most takers is 'reasons Tony Stark hasn't sold the Long Island place.'" Clint said. "He hasn't been out here for anything longer than a couple of weeks since he was in high school, I know that."

"Didn't he start high school when he was about eleven?" Bruce asked.

Clint nodded and checked their blind spot before pulling off the parkway and on to a narrower, less busy state route.

"Is that not customary among your people?" Thor asked.

"Really not," Bruce said. "Especially not away from home."

"Boarding school," Clint added. "Where the kids live away from home?" 

Thor nodded. "Fosterage has a long tradition among the Asgard. I was fostered in the household of Hilmar Halgrimsongislisdottir, where I learned a great deal about the importance of herring in Asgard's economy and why proper training of sheepdogs begins with puppyhood. It has proven quite helpful in managing the formal structure of court."

"When was that?" Steve asked.

"I began at Lady Hilmar's house when I was nineteen, after I had completed my arms training."

"That's usually when first-world kids leave home, too." Bruce replied. An inadvertent reference to 'first-world problems' had prompted an explanation of global inequality some months earlier. "Eleven is young for it, even among Tony's social class."

"It's a little more common for kids that young to go away to school in Britain," Clint added. "But nowhere near as common as it used to be." 

"It happened a lot more often in my day," Steve said. "Definitely an upper class thing. You'd see them trooping through Grand Central for New England in groups right after Labor Day, like Canada geese in reverse." He could see the image, actually: Tony in a school uniform and wings, flying north for the winter. "So he really hasn't lived out here for closer to thirty years than twenty."

Clint nodded again. "But he did grow up out here. The place on Fifth Avenue was something that got used for the big holiday parties. He kept those up – you'll see the spreads in the fashion and style magazines. Good for business, I guess." He made another turn, apparently knowing the way without needing directions or GPS. They were traveling on progressively smaller and lonelier roads, driveways getting fewer and farther between with each mile.

"You said last night you had some knowledge of the house?" Thor asked Steve.

"Just what I read in the papers," he answered. "There was a hurricane when I was twenty. The East River flooded Manhattan for three blocks – basically half of midtown. It destroyed entire towns out here. Part of what it took out was half of the house Isaac Stark built. Literally, half: half of it was still standing, half of it washed out to sea. There was a waterway where there hadn't been one before."

"Which is why it's so perfect for the badgers," Bruce said. "They've got nothing but water around them if they get out of the barn."

"Howard rebuilt it into a model of modern life, efficiency and storm protection." Steve concluded, sipping his coffee from a commuter mug. "He'd already rebuilt the stables when there'd been a fire in '32, so I guess he just built on what he tried out there."

"They are most excellent in design," Thor said. "My own father's stables are not nearly so luxurious." 

*~*~*

Some time later, Clint stopped the car at a computerized gate. A retina scan and twelve-digit pin prompted it to open, and he drove up the driveway, taking the right fork to the stables. "And there they are," He said as he parked. A SHIELD agent was sitting in an Adirondack chair outside the building, feet kicked back, paper edition of _The Economist_ in her hands. "Morning, Sims."

"Agent Barton." She replied, standing up. "All quiet overnight. They seem very happy about the rye, Dr. Banner. Or at least… tappier, if that makes sense."

"Tappier?" Steve asked.

She nodded, and unlocked the barn doors. "Tappier. They're… well, you'll see, Captain. And hear, for that matter." A tug on the handle slid the barn door open.

The badgers had been set up in the last four stalls. Hay bales had been stacked up in stair formations to allow them to move between the stalls. They all had doors that could be opened to walled, open-air, grassy yards: one of them at the end was open, and some of the badgers were out sunning themselves.

"They're not going to dig out of that, are they?" Clint asked, looking at the set-up.

"Not unless their claws can go through concrete," Sims answered. "The dirt goes down about two feet, and then it's poured concrete out to the walls, which are also concrete." She looked at Bruce. "Can they dig through concrete, Dr. Banner?"

Bruce smiled, and pulled out his glasses, cleaning them on his shirt-tail. "Not any that's thicker than two inches. Does a very nice job as an emery board, though." 

"Awesome." Clint went back out, opened the back of the SUV and pulled out a quiver and his bow. "I'm gonna go shoot some. The crosswinds are wicked out here, and I can use the practice. Buzz when you're ready to head back to the city."

Bruce waved at him as he headed for the computers that had been monitoring the badgers all night. He tapped the keyboard and pulled up the recordings of the last sixteen hours. "Let's see how they're doing."

Thor slid open the door on the last empty stall next to the badgers', slid the door shut behind him and hopped over the wall into their enclosure.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Steve asked warily. He was born and raised a city boy, and wild animals were fundamentally unfamiliar to him. "They might not rememb…"

Just after Thor landed on his feet in the stall, a young male with white triangular badges in front of its black 'sideburns' came skittering over to him and chirped excitedly. 

Thor heartily returned the badger's greeting. "Sigur!" he bellowed, and sat down next to the creature. It began tapping its front claws against the walls.

"See?" Sims said, leaning against the wall of the stall next to Steve, fond smile shining white against her dark skin. "Tappier."

"Huh." Steve said, watching as Thor talked to the badger, which was climbing into his lap, presenting its belly to be scratched. "Sigur?"

"We've been naming them as we go along," Bruce said from the computer bank.

"They do seem friendly…"

"They are." Sims said. She picked a ladder up from where it sat next to the computers. "Want to help feed them lunch?"

"Why not?" Steve replied. "Where've you put their chow?"

Steve accepted the pans of food Agent Sims ('Debra, please,') handed him over the wall between the stalls and turned around.

"Ella will show you where set it down," she said, as the large female with black oval badges came up to him.

"Ella?"

Debra smiled at him. "Watch." 

'Ella' looked at Steve, chittered a couple of times until she got his attention, then led him over to a spot on the exterior wall. The other badgers came over, and she started chirping at them, occasionally barking at a badger trying to jump the line. One young female in particular was being pushy, and Ella got up in her face and barked right at her. 

Steve listened to the chirps and barks, placed the pattern, and laughed. "It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing. Hey, you," a young male with a pointy nose tried to take advantage of Ella's distraction and slip ahead. Steve chuckled and nudged him back to where he was. "Wait your turn, pointy." 

"And there's another," Bruce said. "Pointy. This is the badger formerly known as…?"

Debra looked at her phone, where there was a photo album of the badgers. "Male number 6, juvenile."

"Thank you, Agent Sims." Bruce typed in the name change.

Steve looked around the stalls, and asked, "Why doesn't it smell a bit more… badgery?"

"They've dug a latrine." Debra answered. "Actually, they’ve dug two. One down there," she pointed at the end-stall, farthest away from where the new sett was being built / dug. "And one outside in the yards for middle stalls. And the outside one's been trenched: it's not going to seep anywhere."

"Really?" Bruce came over to look. "That's another change, then."

"Oh?" Thor asked, from where he was hand-feeding one of the smallest, youngest males.

"European badgers have been known to dig themselves latrines," Bruce answered. "But not North American." He looked over the door at the latrine Debra pointed out. "Big enough for their crew, too. We're going to have to let them take over some more space. Especially as the females get closer to their due dates."

"How far away is that likely to be?" Debra asked. "I'm only out here while I'm on light duty – theoretically I'm back to full active next week."

"Maybe another month. They usually gestate for six weeks." Bruce wandered back to his computers. "I'm going to need to start looking for a vet for them."

"Why would the SHIELD cete require a one who has served in war?" Thor asked.

"Vet is also short for veterinarian," Steve explained. "A doctor that specializes in non-humans."

"Brooklyn Zoo can probably suggest someone," Debra said.

"Yes, but can they suggest someone who can handle sentient badgers?" Bruce asked. "Kind of hard to sound out someone for something like this."

Loud, angry growls and barks started coming from the next stall over. When Steve went to investigate, he found a small badger cornered, with an even smaller badger defending him against a third badger, bigger than both of them together. "Hey. Enough!" He picked the largest badger up by the scruff of the neck and unceremoniously dropped it on the haystack on the other side of the stall wall. "You. Out." 

Steve looked back at the cornered pair. The smaller of the two was apparently checking over the badger that had been cornered, chirping as she (Steve checked surreptitiously) ran her front paws and claws over the slightly larger male. The male was bristling up as if to go after their assailant: the female had a deep, long scratch on her nose that was dripping blood.

Steve checked the ground of the stall and sat down. All very well for Debra to insist that the badgers were housebroken, but he really didn't want to sit in badger droppings. The pair went on, engrossed, ignoring him. He finally knocked twice on the wall to get to get their attention, and held the handkerchief he'd fished out up, offering it towards the female's nosebleed.

The female looked up at Steve's knocks. She reached out to the wall.

And then she knocked back, twice.

Steve knocked once.

The female knocked once.

Steve knocked three times, then two, then three again.

The female knocked back.

Steve tapped out an SOS.

The female tapped the SOS back.

Bruce looked up from his computer. "Oh, bloody hell." 

"They can _talk."_ Debra said. "Col. Fury's going to flip."

 

*~*~*

After about an hour of tapping back and forth, Bruce agreed with Debra's assessment. With Thor's help, Steve had the badgers tapping out Morse code to the humans, and actually communicating. They were fine with the names they were being called individually. 'Ella' was the eldest, mother to three of them and grandmother to another four, and as such the cete's matriarch. They weren't happy about being in the barn, but were much happier than they'd been in the lab in SHIELD. 

Ella could identify that they were not in Nebraska: "The weather is wrong for this sun. The ground builds wrong. The grass is different, new," she tapped and Thor translated. "Warmer. Wrong ponds, closed ponds." Steve was puzzled at what she meant until she went over to their water bowl and tapped what Thor identified as 'ponds' on it. 

Bruce estimated their intelligence as being on a par with a seven-year-old human's, or, as he put it, "Just enough to cause trouble." 

Steve still had the small, spunky female in his lap where he was holding her nose to stop the nosebleed. "And serious trouble if they want something and there's no one around to speak for them."

"Yeah." Bruce shifted on his feet. "And that's really pretty… horrible. When you need something, and can't make anyone _understand_ what you need."

"I am happy to translate for them," Thor offered.

Noah, Ella's mate tapped rapidly. Steve looked at Thor, who "You are not here all the time, long-hair." He ran his hand through said mane and sighed. "I hate to admit that he's right. I will not be able to do this all the time for them."

"So we need to work out a way for a translator _to_ always be around them." Steve said. The female – he'd started calling her Sam – butted her head under his hand where he'd stopped scratching her behind the ears. He obligingly started again. "And I think I know just who to talk to about that."

*~*~*

Tony glared at the badgers now occupying the empty lab with 'J Foster' written the piece of duct tape on its door. "Really? Now we're a shelter for homeless badgers? And why am I calling them homeless? They've got a home! They've got _two_ homes, and one of them's mine!" His voice held no venom as he was watching Steve and Clint badger-proofing the vents. Natasha had her StarkPhone out and was recording Thor demonstrating indoor plumbing to the eight badgers that had agreed to come back into the city with them. 

Tony was already working on an algorithm to translate badger tapping to English, while Bruce was working on an 'English for Badgers' program. 

"Yeah, but think of the challenge," he said, coding in words, then Morse code for words, a response prompt to let the badgers demonstrate that they'd learned the word, and a reward for correct answers. The reward part was tricky, because while food rewards were great for kicking off the process, Bruce was pretty certain not all badgers would respond to food rewards. "Speaking of which, how's the treat hunt, going, Phil?"

"There is a distinct shortage of appropriate toys for entertaining badgers who are entering second grade." Phil answered. "We could stick with food?"

"They're limited in how much activity they're going to be able to get." Bruce answered. "And I'm pretty sure that some of the older badgers are just going to snub them."

"It's mostly a variety problem. There isn't any. Kong toys, balls, ropes, boxes filled with non-toxic packing peanuts to let your ferret dig in,"

"Seriously?" Steve asked, stepping into the enclosure's 'airlock,' and then out into the human part of the lab. "A box loaded with packing peanuts? Isn't that something they ship _anyway?"_

"That's actually brilliant," Tony mused. "I'll have to remember that one." He kept typing at the program. "Jarvis, check that for code errors, and compile it to work with SHIELD's servers if it does." He picked his coffee mug up, sipping while Jarvis ran the checks. "I can see the entry in this year's Annual Report to Stockholders. 'Stark Industries is pleased to report that profits from our newest venture, StarkBadger Toys, has exceeded expectations by an infinite percentage. This is due to our initial expectation of not entering into the now-booming badger toy market.'" 

Steve whapped Tony on the back of the head and asked Bruce, "what about using additional space as a reward for learning?" 

"Correctly use suidefenestration in a sentence, get a length of Habitrail." Phil suggested.

"No, no, not suidefenestration: we're 98 storeys up." Steve objected. "Now, omphaloskepsis, we can reward."

"We do have the ductwork for it." Bruce admitted, thoughtfully. "How about balcony space?"

"You can do both," Clint said, dropping down from the ceiling, into the 'human' side of the lab. He rubbed absentmindedly at his neck while he looked over Phil's shoulder. "Oooh. Bolts and rubber arrow-tips by Kong. Definitely going in the cart." He reached over Phil's shoulder and clicked 'add.'

Bruce chuckled, looking at Clint, then wrinkled his nose. He stood up and tugged at Clint's collar, revealing a nasty-looking scratch. "One of our guests get you?"

"Nah. Even when Sam was climbing all over the SUV to get back into Steve's lap, she kept her claws to herself. No, this was while I was shooting. Went to retrieve an arrow and got in some kind of berry bush: nasty thorns."

"Ouch."

"It's fine."

"Except that you didn't get it all: there's thorns in there. Stay put." Bruce got the bright green first-aid box mounted off the wall and an illuminated magnifying glass from the work-table.

Clint rolled his eyes and started to casually stretch and pull himself back into the rafters. Without looking, Phil reached out, grabbed Clint by the ankle and pulled him back down to the floor. "It's Bruce or medical. Preference?"

Clint sighed. "Fine."

"Behave and I'll pull out the restraints later."

"Promise?"

"Yes."

"Works."

Tony tapped a key to get his new program to launch "Let's see if this does. Hey, badger." He snapped his fingers at a reddish-brown badger who was watching Tony warily from a safe distance on the other side of the wall. "C'mere, Rusty."

Bruce paused in positioning the light so he could see what he was doing on Clint's neck to see which badger Tony was talking to. "Hey, Steve, on the photo album?"

"Yeah?" Steve clicked opened 'badger family tree.'

"Change 'male number 4, sub-adult,' to 'Rusty.'"

Steve did so. "Done. Also updated Piper and Tally."

"Piper?" Bruce asked, pulling out a pair of gloves and tweezers.

"Watch the one that's latched onto Natasha like she's the Pied…"

Bruce chuckled, and cleaned wineberry debris off Clint's neck. "Got it."

"Tally's mine," Phil said. "Steve said he wouldn't leave Sam alone until he'd Tallied up the damage."

"Ah." Bruce answered. "Last bit, Clint. This one's a little sticky." He twisted the tweezers a little and pulled out a thorn about half an inch long. "Got the little sucker."

The newly-named Rusty came over to the wall where Tony was. Digital recorders and speakers were on both sides of the walls. "Jarvis, open a new file. StarkBabble version 1.0, test one."

"Recording, sir."

"They've already got the hang of tapping, so I'm skipping the Skinner," Tony said, reaching out to the wall next to him where Rusty was sitting. Tony tapped out the first bar of Beethoven's Fifth.

Rusty tapped back.

"Contact established." Jarvis reported.

"Right, then." Tony asked into the microphone, "Hi, Rusty, everything okay in there?"

The speaker near Rusty tapped out the message.

Rusty tapped on the wall, "Humans' automatic latrines are great."

Jarvis translated. Tony looked at Thor for confirmation. "How close?"

"Exceptionally good has been shortened to 'great.'" Thor answered. "Otherwise it's perfect."

"Awesome! Let's try something a little more complicated. What would you like for dinner, Rusty?"

"Chipmunks, some of that squishy meat, those face-marking shaped plants, and some of the magic grass."

Steve looked at Thor, who nodded confirmation.

"'Fraid we're all out of chipmunks." Tony said, "Crickets do instead?"

Rusty tapped back: three dashes, dash, dot, dash.

Steve and Jarvis translated at the same time. "Okay."

Natasha came out of the enclosure and picked up her jacket. "Looks like I'm off to the PetSmart, then, unless you actually have a stock of crickets?"

"Only the ones that call for cream, brandy, white crème de cacao, and crème de menthe," Tony answered. "Which, hey, do we know if they like booze?"

"We are _not_ finding out if the badgers like booze." Steve said firmly.

"You're no fun anymore," Tony complained. "Honestly, anyone'd think you'd spent 70 years trapped in an iceberg or something."

"Fancy that." Steve grinned, and stepped up behind Tony. His arms wrapped around him and squeezed gently. "Behave and I'll offer you the deal Phil offered Clint."

Tony arched back into the hug. "Deal."

*~*~*

Tony regarded Steve some weeks later as he sat on the couch trying to make sure the next level of the badger habitat was structurally sound. They were expanding outside the walls into open air, now, and the kits were starting to explore beyond the whelping sett. Rusty was curled up next to him, and persistently butted his head under Tony's hand. "Sheesh, all right, here. Hand. Have at." He obediently resumed scratching Rusty just behind the head where his back claws wouldn't reach his shedding coat. "We are going to have to buy Dyson, or Electrolux."

"Don't you mean buy stock in Dyson or Electrolux?" Steve asked from an oversized stadium seat on the floor next to the fire.

"Why bother buying stock unless you can control the company?" Tony retorted. He added another turn into the den-frame.

"Of course, silly of me to ask. No, you're done. That's all for you tonight, you're finished. Back to your mom, now" He gently deposited the badger kit he was bottle feeding back into Sam's den. The young female had surprised everyone (including herself) by delivering five kits, and even with the plentiful food available, she was having trouble producing enough milk to feed them all. Steve, naturally, had stepped in, providing supplemental feeding for all the kits. 

Steve checked the bottle warmer's contents. 

Steve scooped up the smallest kit of the litter, a female whose markings were the spitting image of her mother's. Deposited in his lap, he gently stroked her still-thin coat while he pulled out the next bottle. He checked its temperature on his wrist before offering it to the little female. "C'mon, Moxie, let's see if you can manage to latch on this time, huh?"

The sight never failed to make Tony smile. Steve was pretty sure that Tony thought Steve didn't know that Tony had changed his tablet's background to a photo of him feeding Moxie, her siblings piled in his lap. Steve smiled to himself, and brought Moxie over to the couch.

"You realize you're wrapped around her tail."

"Utterly." Steve said. "Can't say I'm worried about it." He settled Moxie into his lap and let her continue to feed. His other arm stretched behind Tony across the back of the couch. He rubbed the back of Tony's neck, gently. "Gonna come out with us this weekend, see the rest of the cete?"

"Nah. Got work to do."

"Tony, you realize that tomorrow's Thanksgiving, and the only work you're doing this weekend is eating leftover pie?"

"What leftovers? You and Thor will finish every pie on Manhattan, and probably Staten Island, too." Tony hadn't realized it was Thanksgiving, actually, but looking at the date on the StarkPadd, he supposed it made sense.

"New pie, then. Phil's trying out apple-cherry for us."

"Mmm." Tony exploded the electronics portion of the new habitat to look at the wiring diagrams.

"Tony," Steve said gently, "it's been weeks. Even Natasha's coming out these days. Why haven't you gone out to Long Island even once?"

Tony skritched Rusty and closed the tablet. "I'm not sentimental, Steve, you know that."

"Uh-huh. That's why you spent a day and a half disassembling, redesigning, and rebuilding the bottle warmer. You're not sentimental about the kits at all."

 

"That thing was a mockery of engineering and design. There was no way I was going to allow it to carry on that way. Looking at it actually hurt."

"And tripling the scale of the thermostat and set up individual circuits for each bottle?"

"Just trying to be efficient. No need to heat slots that aren't being used."

"Mmmm." Moxie finished her bottle, burped, curled into a ball in Steve's lap and promptly fell asleep. Steve brushed the back of his nails across the back of Tony's neck: the older man shivered. "Tell me."

Tony leaned into Steve, and rubbed his head against Steve's face, pulling him down for a kiss. "Tell you what. I'll tell you in the car on the way out on Saturday."

Steve smiled and let himself be distracted for now. He'd have plenty of time to coax the story out of Tony while they sat on the parking lot of the Long Island Expressway.

And if coaxing didn't work, Steve always could badger it out of him.


End file.
